


Home

by prescellphone



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prescellphone/pseuds/prescellphone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The KGB are restless and Illya has to make a tough decision. Some more trio love and of course, loads of Gallya</p>
<p>Music: Time by Hans Zimmer and I’m On Fire by AWOLNATION</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

       

* * *

 

       "You're full of shit, Illya."

        Gaby spat the words over her shoulder as she zipped up her dress while juggling her heels. Illya followed her to the door, barely touching her shoulder before she ripped it away from him.

        "Gaby-"

        "Have fun in Russia."

        Gaby slammed the hotel door behind her. She let her anger carry her quickly down the stairs to the second floor. If Illya came after her, his longer legs would definitely catch up to her before she could get into her room. Luckily, she didn't see him at either ends of the hall as she fumbled with her room key and shoes at her hotel door. Growling loudly, Gaby dropped the key and bent to pick it up when the door opened. A shirtless Napoleon stared down at her with an interested gleam to his eyes. 

        "I didn't expect you back tonight."

        She didn't respond. He then moved aside to let her storm past him. He was not looking forward to dealing with an angry Gaby. A girl in her underwear stood by the bed with a shocked look on her face. Gaby glanced at the girl before throwing her shoes across the room. Napoleon dodged one shoe after it bounced off a chair. 

        "Please get out."

        Gaby's voice was steady when she spoke, but her hands shook with anger. The girl assumed it was directed at her. 

        Gathering her things rapidly, the girl sounded truly apologetic, "Oh my god, I didn't know you were his wife. I'm so sorry."

        Napoleon's face shifted as the girl ran out the door. He was definitely not a man who would cheat. The comment bothered him more than Gaby though. Maybe she didn’t care because they had already been faking an engagement for the mission they just finished. Or it was because she was truly too angry.

        "That fucking Russian." 

        Gaby stripped out of her dress, pulling her pajamas on while muttering strong curse words, some in English, others in German. Napoleon averted his eyes but not before noticing the new red blotches along her collarbone. This was going to be hard to deal with.

        "So, it looks like you and Peril had a nice chat." 

        Napoleon filled one of the glasses with scotch before sitting on his bed. He hated but also loved that he was unable to speak without some sort of sexual connotation. Gaby apparently picked up his sexual reference, but ignored it as she took the drink from his hand and knocked it back. Napoleon sighed heavily when she handed the empty glass back.

        "I'm pissed at you too." 

        Napoleon felt his stomach drop. Illya would, of course, drag him into this. The Russian honestly had no idea how to phrase his words correctly.

        "Well, I don't understand what the fuss is all about."

        Gaby whirled around and the slap echoed in the room. Napoleon turned to his head to soften the blow, but Gaby was too good with her hands. It stung.

        She was furious but Napoleon could hear the pain in her voice when she said, “Don’t you dare try to give me the same shit he did. It won’t work.”

        Rubbing his throbbing cheek, Napoleon was at a loss for words. Usually he was able to say just the right thing to ease Gaby’s worries, but if Illya couldn’t pull it off, especially since he had an upper hand with Gaby’s feelings, then he definitely couldn’t either.

        “We were going to tell you-”

        “When?! Tomorrow morning right before you board the airplane? When it would be easy to simply say goodbye and not deal with me? No, you were not going to tell me. And I only found out because I could tell something was bothering Illya. So, don’t give me that bullshit, Napoleon.”

        Gaby paced in front of him, her hands throwing her hair over her shoulder. Finally, she calmed down enough to stop and stare at Napoleon without her hands twitching to beat the shit out of him.

        “Spill.”

        Napoleon swallowed and shifted his weight.

        “The KGB are getting impatient. Their best agent has been gone for months with an organization composed of American and British spies. Illya has been receiving urgent and strict instructions to come back. He’s been making up excuses for everything, obviously with some help from me. But they’ve had enough. They’ve threatened to kill if he doesn’t come back in a couple days. Apparently, they have some agents that know our location and are close by.”

        Gaby’s hands tightened on her biceps, “How long?”

        “Excuse me?”

        “How long has this been going on?” She had her eyes closed tightly.

        “Since the Vinciguerra incident with the tape.”

       Gaby’s arms fell to her sides as her teeth worried away at her bottom lip. She turned away from him. He watched her shoulders lift as she took a deep breath before facing him again.

        “And now?”

        Napoleon noticed her hands pulling on a loose string on her pajamas. “And now, Illya is going back to Russia. He plans to leave the KGB and come back.”

        Gaby’s lip trembled before she bit it again. “That easy, huh?”

        Napoleon couldn’t meet her eyes. “They’ll mark him as a traitor and put a bounty on him. If this war doesn’t end soon, they’ll never stop looking for him.”

        Gaby didn’t answer for a few minutes but gazed out the window.

       “He’ll never be able to go home again.”

       Napoleon nodded slowly, “He says it isn’t home anymore.”

       “That’s bullshit. He loves Russia. He would never leave it willingly.”

       Napoleon couldn’t deny it. Illya truly loved his homeland. It was just the memories and stories from it that he didn’t like.

       Napoleon could tell when it dawned on her.

       She turned away again but didn’t look back when she said, “They threatened my life, didn’t they?”

       Sighing, Napoleon nodded, “Yes. They know.”

       His words were loaded. They knew that Illya had a soft spot for his comrades. They knew that he was unable to kill Napoleon. He was more willing to take a bullet for him. They knew that he was extra sensitive with Gaby. They knew that she slept next to him in his bed, and he would do absolutely anything to keep her safe. It was everything a KGB agent wasn’t supposed to have. It was a weak link, a distraction, a prime example of a traitor to the Soviets.

       Gaby rubbed her eyes before leaving the hotel room in a rush. Napoleon fell back onto the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Hopefully, Illya could patch up the rest.

       Gaby didn’t even knock as she entered Illya’s room. He sat in front of his chessboard, none of the pieces moved from their original spots. Gaby crawled into his lap, making his blue eyes look up at hers. She kissed him once, then wrapped her arms around his blonde head, feeling his breath hit her throat as she hugged him close. His hands were stretched across her back, holding her firmly to him.

       They sat quietly for a couple minutes, before Gaby could feel Illya’s lips slide down her throat to meet the marks from earlier in the evening. She sighed as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

       Gaby had always thought there was only sex. Nothing special about it but an action taken to relieve tension. But afterwards, when she draped herself across Illya’s chest, Gaby knew that her and Illya had made love. She wasn’t sure if it was because she had never felt happier or because Illya had never taken his eyes off of her. Maybe they were the same thing.

       Her happiness only lasted a few seconds before she met his eyes again. Reality had to cut in. He was going to leave her. Hopefully to return, but not with the freedom he so desperately wanted. It was also possible that he wouldn’t make it back. And Gaby would be left waiting. He could be getting tortured to death and she would never know. She blinked her eyes. She had to turn off her thoughts. Her distressed hands immediately found their way to Illya’s face.

       Letting Gaby’s shaky hands run through his hair, Illya had never felt so split in his entire life. He thought of Russia and the harsh winters and the sound of children in the streets shouting Russian to each other. He loved Russia. But he also loved Gaby. And Napoleon. And traveling together. And everything since that night in East Berlin. He thought about his father and mother and what Russia had done to them, or at least what the KGB had done. It infuriated him. How could he call a place like that home when he is happier with Gaby lying across him? He guessed he always thought that when he would go back, Gaby and Napoleon would be at his side, protecting him from his past self. But with the death threats, he was adamant against them getting anywhere near Russia. This was something he had to do alone. He just didn’t want to.

       “Illya,” Gaby whispered against his jaw. She had crawled onto him, her body relaxed against his.        

       His hands held the hair away from her face as she sat up, “Yes?”

       She kissed his palm and made her fingers hold his hand tight to her cheek, “Please come back.”

       “I will try.” He promised.

       She laid back down on his chest, her lips lazily meeting his, before she let sleep take her.

 

       The next morning, Gaby stood in the airport, waiting for Illya to grab his ticket with the help of Napoleon. She watched a little girl wave happily to her mother as she walked away, but as soon as the mother was out of view, the girl began to sob, holding onto her father’s leg. He lifted her up and left the airport as the girl’s sobs increased.

       Gaby felt like she was going to shatter when Illya made his way over to her. Napoleon still stood at the desk, casually talking to the woman behind the counter.

       “I don’t want you to go.” The words left her mouth before Gaby could even think them up.

       Illya smiled weakly, “I won’t be going alone.” Illya met her eyes, looking for a reaction.

       She shook her head, “You know I can’t go.”

        Illya nodded before turning to Napoleon, who had walked over just then.

        “God, a whole plane ride with this guy. Hopefully, the people in front of us won’t try to lean their seats back.” Napoleon patted Illya’s shoulder with an easy grin. Gaby’s eyes flicked between the two of them.

        “He wouldn’t let me go alone. He’s too stubborn,” Illya explained. Gaby felt her lip tremble as she pulled Napoleon and Illya into a fierce hug.

        “Don’t you dare die on me.” She pushed them back so she could look at them fully, “You come back. And if you can’t, I’ll come get you.”

        “Sheesh Gabes, we’re only going to communist Russia to get Peril here free from the KGB. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

        Gaby smiled at Napoleon as he hugged her again, kissing her cheek lightly. He said goodbye one last time and turned to the area where the plane was boarding.

        Gaby watched Napoleon leave before Illya’s fingers brushed her cheek. She turned back to him, feeling her fear climb into her throat. Illya gave her a smirk before grabbing her left hand. He pulled out a simple silver band ring and slid it onto her finger, right next to the one from their first mission.

        “A promise.” He kissed her fingers and turned away before she could say a word back.

 

 

        5 months and 23 days had passed. Gaby had counted down from the moment she saw Illya and Napoleon walking away. Her and Waverly had heard nothing from them since they landed in Russia. To occupy her thoughts, Gaby had requested multiple missions and Waverly had unwillingly given them to her. They were simple and easy, but effective at keeping Gaby busy.

        Waverly only saw a break in the façade Gaby kept up during a Christmas party. He had been perusing through the crowds with Gaby at his side when she had suddenly disappeared. He had found her out on the balcony of the mansion, her hands catching the snow flakes, tears sliding down her cheeks, and her breath making large clouds in the cold. She had only said, “Do you think it’s snowing in Russia?” before the sobs took over and she was taken back to the hotel. They never spoke of the incident and Waverly never saw tears from her again.

        It was late in January when Waverly received a message. Gaby was on a mission. He wasn’t sure how to tell her. Luckily, he never had to.

        Gaby’s car pulled up to the front of the hotel late in the evening. Large clumps of snow fell from the sky, cooling her heated skin from a fight with a man less than an hour ago. She was exhausted as she climbed up to Waverly’s room to report. She knocked twice, her usual sound, before Waverly opened the door.

        “Good to see you, Teller,” He smiled.

        Gaby felt her frustration rise. She was exhausted. Couldn’t he save the niceties for some other time?

        “You too, Waverly. Are you going to let me in?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

        “Oh, absolutely.” His smile widened as he stepped back.

        Gaby’s eyes instantly connected with the backs of two men standing in the room. One with perfect hair and hands tucked into a fancy suit. The other with the same hat on his head and his shoulders held high. She felt her hands drop everything they were holding as her tired legs found their last bit of energy.

       She had them in hugs before either of them could say a word. Napoleon laughed in her ear as she hugged him tightly, kissing his bruised cheeks multiple times and scolding him for getting so beat up.

       “Missed you too Gabes.”

       Gaby smiled at him and turned to Illya. His eye was blackened and sliced above the eyebrow, but otherwise he looked perfectly fine. Taking tentative steps towards him, she reached out and let her hands run along his jaw and cheeks. She took his hat off and her hands quickly ran through his longer hair. Illya’s eyes closed at the touch. She lured him down for a kiss, then two, then three. Pulling back, Illya glanced at Napoleon and Waverly before meeting Gaby’s loving gaze. He was home.


	2. Far from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An add-on to Home. The shit that went down in Russia with Illya and Napoleon.
> 
> Music: Weak by Wet, Mother and Father by Broods, 1965 by Zella Day, and Home by Gabrielle Aplin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got quite a few requests to write about what happened in Russia from my other fic, Home. So this doesn't really count as a second chapter, but a nice little add-on to the original. 
> 
> When I first sent it to my best friend, I was nervous as hell because I don't have a lot of practice writing action/fight scenes, and when I was editing it, I thought the action scenes read horribly. But I've always been my harshest critic and my friend told me it was good. So, it's being posted. Also, I got a little carried away and it's almost twice as long as the original fic. What can I say, I fucking love the relationship between Illya and Napoleon. 
> 
> (And I just want to say that I have zero background on anything related to Russia. I googled quite a bit on the KGB and USSR, but I didn't get much so I apologize now for anything not accurate. And how long does it take someone to pass out from blood loss? I don't fucking know, so a lot of the medical shit might be completely wrong as well.)

         

* * *

        

       The plane ride was tense and quiet. Illya's eyes were constantly gazing out the window after they had taken off, a crease between his eyebrows. His hands balled into fists in his lap. Napoleon had tried light conversation but only received grunts in response, which he usually accepted, but he could tell Illya wasn't truly invested in the chat. His blue eyes were dark and circles were beginning to appear underneath them. Napoleon knew the feeling of getting zero sleep, and he was sure that the sleep-stealer was a girl with an attitude. 

        Patting Illya's knee after they were airborne, Napoleon gave him a small smile, "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

        Illya's face relaxed slightly before nodding. With his head leaned back against the seat, he was out in a minute. Napoleon finally let a frown pull his smile down. If Illya was already beginning to morph back into his old self, then this was going to be quite a bit harder than Napoleon imagined. He already knew that as an American in Soviet Russia, he was practically asking to be killed. Illya had been completely against him coming for that reason. But Napoleon had already known when he invited himself. He wouldn't admit it, but the Russian's death would hurt and Gaby's reaction would hurt more. They were a team and Napoleon planned to keep it that way. So if that meant flying to his death to make sure he brought Illya back, then he was willing to do it. It was probably his "no man left behind" soldier mindset resurfacing. 

        Napoleon watched the Atlantic pass under them. He wondered how Gaby was going to cope. Knowing her, she had already asked Waverly for a mission and they would come back to find every car in New York in perfect condition. Hopefully she remembered to eat and sleep which she tended to forget while lying under a car. Waverly had already warned them that they would be on their own once Russia was in view. So they were unable to send messages, leaving each other in the dark. In the worst case, Gaby could be dead when they return. 

        Shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts, Napoleon's eyes wandered through the cabin, landing on a woman who had been eyeing him since they boarded. She gave him a sultry look before making her way into the single bathroom. Napoleon sighed. It wouldn't make him feel better, but it would pass the time. 

 

 

        Illya woke up once when they touched down at an airport in Europe. Napoleon looked untroubled when he told him where they were. After they took off again, Illya struggled to stay awake before he let himself relax and fall asleep again, comforted by the presence of the American.

       Napoleon was just beginning to doze off when the pilot announced their arrival in Kiev. The words were repeated in Russian and Illya startled awake. Despite getting a few hours of sleep, Illya's face was still stony as he looked out the window. They began their descent and Illya shared a worried look with Napoleon.

       Napoleon grinned nervously before speaking fluently in Illya's native tongue, "How's your Russian, comrade?" 

       That was the last smile he got from Illya for 5 months. 

 

 

       The plan was simple. The "doing" was the hard part. Illya and Napoleon had spoken about it many times before they decided to leave. Illya was to show up, obedient like every other KGB agent, and act as if nothing had happened. He was theirs again and he was going to go on a couple missions, executing them perfectly. Then he would defect when they were comfortable with him again, rumors would be placed strategically with the help of Napoleon, and hopefully by the time they come after him, he will be halfway across the Atlantic. It was a stretch, but it's all they could think of. 

       Napoleon immediately had reserves about the idea of Illya running missions. He simply didn't see the point and wanted Illya to defect right away. Illya had flat out refused. His authorities would expect that and were prepared for it. Russians treasured pride, trustworthiness, and honesty, so Illya had to earn it all back or he would never make it out. Napoleon agreed grudgingly. He would be in hiding most of the time, since the Russians expected Illya to be alone, and he would be taking care of the “small” things like erasing all traces of Illya from Russia. It would be difficult considering Illya and the KGB were superb at covering their tracks, but Napoleon was a thief at heart. He could get anything he wanted if he tried hard enough. 

 

    

       Illya flexed his hands. They shook ever so slightly as he raised them to knock on the door. He closed his eyes when a voice answered from within. He opened the door casually, walking into the room with purpose and his shoulders straight. It was amazing how easy it was to fall back to his roots. 

       A man sat at the desk with a cigar in one hand. Viktor Serov. 

      "Kuryakin."

       Illya felt himself glide back into his home language as he replied, "Sir." 

      "Took you long enough. Had fun with the American and German?"

       Illya knew it was a rhetorical question so he stood in silence, trying to ignore his shivering hands at the mention of Gaby and Napoleon. He hid them in his jacket's pockets.

       Viktor blew out a cloud of smoke, "You have a lot to catch up on. Your mission is in the folder."

       Taking careful steps forward, Illya pulled the folder into his hands. He stood up straight again.

      "Will that be all?"

       The man grinned menacingly, "You have a briefing at 0800 hours. Don't be late."

       Nodding, Illya turned. His hand was on the door knob when Viktor spoke again.

     "Oh and Kuryakin? Do remember your father. Just because you're our best agent doesn't mean you can get away with everything. Also, small reminder, we have eyes on your little German, uh, we'll call her a _friend_." 

        Illya left the room without a word. The doorknob decorated with finger shaped dents. 

 

 

        Illya entered his old apartment late into the night. The small area was given to him by the KGB years ago, probably a good way to keep an eye on him. The Illya back then didn't entirely mind, considering he had nothing to hide. The rooms were practically empty except for the plain furniture and a dusty chessboard. Dropping his suitcase on the bed, he noticed the light hand prints in the dust gathered over everything. Of course they had searched his room and bugged it. It looked like they had left the job up to an amateur agent though. They may have been wearing gloves, but it didn't change the fact that you could still tell someone had been in the room. 

        Illya went to work. After shutting all the blinds, he searched the room thoroughly, picking out all the bugs and placing them in a solution created by fellow agents to disable them entirely. He searched his suitcase, not surprised to find some in there already and locating old ones from Napoleon. Once satisfied with his search, he set up the rest of his equipment, placing a small earpiece in his ear. Flipping a small switch, static filled his ear before Napoleon's smart Russian broke in.

       "Peril? How'd it go?" 

       "Fine. Bugs everywhere. Mission tomorrow."

       "Already? The KGB sure don't waste time, do they? Do they trust you?"

       Illya tidied up the room and changed into more comfortable clothes, "No. It won't take them long to figure out you're not in New York either. Best to keep communication to a minimum."

       "Sounds good. What's the mission about?" 

       Illya rolled his eyes. This was not keeping communication to a minimum, but he was comforted to hear Napoleon's voice. He opened the folder across his bed, reading through it quickly. A slow ache started in his gut reaching to his fingers, making them feel numb. 

        "Peril?" Napoleon sounded like he was eating. Illya shut his eyes, his fingers pressed to his forehead. He took three large breaths, imagining warm hands running across his neck, loosening the tight knots in his shoulders. 

        Letting a breath out calmly, Illya replied, "A Russian spy has been caught giving evidence to an outside source. He's been labeled as an enemy to Russia and I have to kill him."

        "Well, that doesn't sound so bad. What's the catch?" 

        "He has a wife and an 8-year-old son."

        Illya heard Napoleon sigh heavily, "You Russians sure know how to hit everyone's weaknesses. Contact me when you complete it or need anything."

         He liked that Napoleon didn't even question his capability of completing a mission closely resembling the one that ruined his life.

 

        “You made it into the newspaper, Peril,” Napoleon’s voice was conversational, definitely bored. Illya was sitting at the desk in his room, his eyes beginning to close when Napoleon had spoke.

         He rubbed his eyes, sitting up, “We’re not supposed to be talking and I thought you were taking care of that kind of stuff?”

        “Oh, it doesn’t mention you explicitly. It just says that a man was found dead in his home Sunday night. Police believe it was the act of a rival or enemy of the man from work. Interesting, huh? When I arrived at the scene, the cops were suspecting the unknown Red Peril, but I quickly changed their minds. You’re in Egypt if anyone asks.”

        Illya nodded slowly, his eyes threatening to shut again. He was thankful Napoleon did not mention the end of the article about a widow and a fatherless son. It hit too close to home, the only exception being Illya’s family story had been plastered across the front page.

        The mission was a success for the KGB, but Illya was still bothered by it. After staking out for a week and then an extra one for personal reasons, Illya had figured out the family’s exact schedule, hoping to be able to kill the father when he was alone. He wasn’t sure he could stand watching the boy lose his father.

       Of course, it didn’t work out so well. Sunday evening, the mother and son would usually go grocery shopping together for an hour, leaving the father home to relax before a busy Monday morning. Illya decided that was his chance.

       He was sliding his gun back into his jacket, leaning out the window to leave the apartment on Sunday when the son had come back in half an hour early. His mother was still coming up the stairs.

       “Beat you!” The boy had yelled happily over his heaving shoulders. Illya didn’t hear the mother’s response as the boy’s eyes met him and then his father’s body lying across the linoleum floor. Blood rushed in Illya’s ears. He jumped down to the fire escape, hurrying down the steps, but he still didn’t miss the sound of the boy’s screams and sobs. He was across the street, revving the engine of his car when the mother’s yells joined in.

       After checking in with a smirking Viktor, Illya had gone straight to his room. He left the earpiece connecting him to Napoleon on the desk as he sat awake in the darkness. His fists had met the wall multiple times that night, splitting the skin and leaving blood stains. He couldn’t sleep and when his eyes finally closed as he sat on the floor, his cheek pressed against the bed, old nightmares woke him. He had forgotten what it was like to deal with his problems alone. It was unbelievable he had survived for so long before meeting Gaby and Napoleon.

       At 6 the next morning, he finally contacted Napoleon. It was a short conversation. Napoleon only said one phrase at the very end.

       “You’re more than your past, Illya.”

 

       The next couple of months, Illya was accepting mission after mission. Sleep was nonexistent until he was face down at his desk, too exhausted to have nightmares. Every once in a while, warm, lazy dreams of New York and a small body curled against his would drift through his mind. Those were the worst nights. He would wake up to the darkness of his apartment, sometimes at his desk, sometimes in the bathtub with the once hot water making him shiver. He was only contacting Napoleon once a week, his voice beginning to make Illya’s soul ache horribly. Knowing the toll Russia was taking on Illya, Napoleon worked more rapidly, clearing Illya’s name, a word or phrase at a time.

       It was late in January when Illya was called into Viktor’s office. Illya stood in the center of the room, waiting for Viktor to show himself. His heart beat rapidly as the door opened. He could be shot in the back of the head right now and everything would be over. Illya hated how he relaxed at the thought.

       “Good morning, Kuryakin.”

       Viktor’s voice was edging toward cheerful. Illya’s gut twisted as he nodded in greeting. Viktor sat down at the fancy chair behind the desk, his hands crossed casually on the desktop.

       “To begin, we as an organization are extremely proud of your work lately. Zero hitches in any of your missions and not a single word from that cursed organization in America. It seems as if we finally have you to ourselves again.”

       Illya nodded to show that he was listening. Viktor smiled.

       “So, I’m giving you a week off. We’ve caught up on everything we need for the moment. Your father would be proud. Thank you Kuryakin.”

       Illya knew that was his cue to leave. He was out the door before Viktor could stop him and change his mind.

       For the first time in months, Illya felt the warmth of the sun as he walked back to his apartment. He could hear the crunch of the snow under his shoes, the cars driving past, people chatting and laughing. He looked at the ancient buildings lining the streets and made his way to a large plaza. Standing in the middle next to a fountain, he looked up to the top of a large cathedral and closed his eyes. This was the Russia he knew.

       “Enjoying the view comrade?”

       Illya’s eyes snapped open and he turned to his right abruptly. Napoleon smiled warmly at his side. His hair and grin were perfect as usual, but he had let his beard grow out. It definitely changed his look.

       Illya felt his shoulders relax before he briefly embraced Napoleon.

       “Miss me much?” Napoleon laughed lightly as Illya stepped back.

       “We shouldn’t meet in public,” Illya tried to sound upset but Napoleon’s presence was a jumpstart to the Illya lost inside his old self.

       “Well, considering we might be going home soon, I thought it would be okay just this one time.”

       Illya looked at him quizzically before his hand briefly touched the mic in his ear. He had forgotten to take it out after last night’s talk. So he heard everything with Viktor.

       Napoleon nodded before walking away, “Come along. We both need haircuts.”

       The rest of the day was spent on food, much needed haircuts, and Napoleon chatting about Russian women and hidden knives underneath dresses.

       “No wonder you don’t have a Russian girlfriend. They’re quite terrifying.”

       Illya shook his head, “You just pick the wrong ones, Cowboy.”

       Along with his accent, Napoleon’s beard was gone by the end of the day, his classic American look back in place. Illya’s hair was styled under his hat and the scruff from the past few weeks shaven off. He was feeling more like the normal Illya with every second.

       He finally let himself think about going home. His real home. He thought about Gaby smiling into their kisses, Napoleon cooking breakfast, and Waverly complaining about the destroyed furniture after a wrestling match. Illya was ready to go, but they had to finish the work or everything would’ve been a waste.

       After saying goodbye late in the evening, Illya went up to his apartment and set up the equipment so he and Napoleon could talk in secret about their plan. If everything went well, they would be leaving in three days. Napoleon had bought two plane tickets that same night and so, the waiting game began.  

       For the first time in his life, Illya had underestimated the KGB. It was the morning before their plane took off when his apartment door was kicked open. It was 5 to 1. Illya had taken down three when a knife had sliced his side open, dropping him to his knees. Napoleon’s yells were silenced as the mic fell from Illya’s ear. The men threw a black bag over Illya’s head and dragged him down the stairs into a waiting car. He had counted 3 right turns and one left before he passed out.

 

       Waking suddenly, Illya groaned loudly at the throbbing pain in his side. His hands were tied to a pole above him, and his legs hung limply. His side burned furiously and he moved to rid the feeling.

       “Ah, you’re awake.”

       A man looked up from Illya’s hurt side, a needle in a bloody hand.

       “We didn’t want you bleeding out. It’s no fun to torture someone when they’re not conscious. We specifically told them to not injure you, but alas, you put three of our best men in the hospital and they had no choice.”

       Illya listened to the man half-heartedly as his eyes searched the room, looking for hints on his location. The gray walls were dewy but held nothing. One door sat at the end of the room next to a table full of tools with interesting hooks and blades. The man smiled wickedly when he saw Illya notice the torture devices.

       “Oh yes, excited to have those used on you? Or would you rather give up all your information on UNCLE and America right now? Also, the location of your American friend would be nice to know as well.”

       Illya ignored the pain in his side. He met the man’s eyes and clenched his jaw. If Napoleon was smart, he would’ve flown out of Russia as soon as Illya was taken. If him and Napoleon got caught, Gaby promised before they left that she would come for them. Illya wouldn’t let that happen. One of them had to make it home and Napoleon was the better candidate. He always has been the better candidate.

       The man shrugged, “I thought you wouldn’t take the bait. What if we told you the little German girl was in danger,” he looked at his watch, “in about...let’s say…20 hours. We explicitly told you that we had people following her. She’s a feisty one, isn’t she? She would be fun to play with. I’m sure the men would enjoy it.”

       Illya felt his hands clench tightly. He ignored the images swimming past his eyes and glared at the man with everything he had.

       “Ah, it was worth a shot. I guess I’ll bring in the main guy.”

       The man left through the door and came back a couple minutes later.

       “Oh Kuryakin. I couldn’t believe you fell for such simple tactics.”

       Viktor smiled as the door closed behind him. Illya glimpsed a long hallway with four guards before the door shut. The smaller man fumbled with the tools until Viktor grabbed the pliers from his hands.

       “I thought you were smarter than your father. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a much better agent than he was, but he had a way of bending anything to his will. And yours crumbles underneath a tiny girl and some witless American. I had really hoped things would’ve worked out.”

        Viktor’s grin was horrible as the pliers pulled out one toenail.

 

        Napoleon couldn’t believe that Illya didn’t follow his own rules and didn’t check his clothes for trackers. This one time it would help to save his life, but honestly, Napoleon expected a little more from the Russian as he snuck around in the underground warehouse.

        Judging from when Illya was taken and the distance traveled, Illya had probably already been tortured for a good half an hour. A lot could happen in that time period.

       Napoleon checked around a corner, finding a long corridor leading to a single door. Four KGB guards stood outside, arms folded over their chests. Napoleon knew he had zero chance against four KGB agents, so his wits would have to get him out of this one.

       Illya’s eyes were squeezed shut, trying not cry out from the pain. A loud noise outside the room made Viktor remove the sinister tool from the wound on Illya’s side.

       Viktor ordered the smaller man to stay behind before he left the room. The only sound was Illya’s heavy breathing and the soft drip of blood hitting the floor. A bang against the door made the man jump and Illya look up. There were some grunts from the other side before Illya heard a heavy body hit the floor. The door creaked open and Napoleon limped through. His left arm lifted the gun to point at the small man. It looked like his other shoulder might be dislocated. His nose was broken and blood was gushing onto his fancy suit along with a nasty head wound.

        “You good, Peril?” Napoleon’s voice was muffled but his English consoled Illya.

        “Cowboy.” Illya let relief fill his body.

        “Watch the door for me as I get you down.”

       Making the other man stand in the farthest corner from the door, Napoleon pulled a lock pick out of his pocket and begin to work on the chains holding Illya up. One hand was freed in a quick second. Illya’s arm fell limply; the blood rushing back into his fingers. Napoleon’s hands were still working on the second lock when the door was thrown open. A gunshot went off and the other man crumpled in the corner.

       Napoleon held his hands up as Viktor and a bleeding KGB agent pointed guns at his chest. Setting his gun on the floor, Napoleon moved away from Illya as the guard wrapped an arm around Napoleon’s throat, pressing a gun to his head. He walked Napoleon over to the door as Viktor made his way over to Illya. Just out of reach of his loose hand and the little puddle of blood Illya hung over.

       “Thanks for bringing your American friend to us, Kuryakin. I would love to be the one to kill the notorious Napoleon Solo.”

       Viktor turned away, his eyes watching the agent struggle against Napoleon’s squirming. Illya twisted his fingers around in the chain, hooking them onto the lock pick left in the lock. He fumbled a bit before the lock clicked open and Illya fell to the floor grabbing Napoleon’s dropped gun. Napoleon freed himself from the guard before Illya sent three bullets into the Russian’s chest. Viktor jumped away, reaching for the guard’s gun before Napoleon kicked him away. He fell against the wall, his hands held up weakly.

       Napoleon helped Illya stand while Illya’s gun was trained on Viktor. He leaned against Napoleon until his knees held him up. His right foot, missing three toe nails, screamed with each step Illya took toward Viktor. Napoleon stood next to Illya as he stopped in front of Viktor, the gun pointed at his forehead.

       “Now, Kuryakin. You know you’re a KGB agent. You were born and raised in this country. Russia is the motherland, to defect is to be hunted down and sent to Siberia. You wouldn’t want that. This American is nothing compared to you and neither is the girl.”

       Illya’s finger twitched. Viktor flinched before continuing. He blabbed on.

       “Your mother was a great woman; she wouldn’t want you to do this. Don’t make the same mistakes your father made. What would he think of you, Illya? What would he say?”

       Illya remembered Napoleon’s words, _“you’re more than your past, Illya.”_

       “It doesn’t matter what he would say. I say, fuck you.”

       Illya sent two shots through his forehead and Viktor crumpled against the floor. Napoleon sighed deeply. Illya’s arm dropped as he felt all of his anger wash away.

       Napoleon gave a weak grin, “Let’s go home.”

 

       The one time Illya was happy with Napoleon’s seduction techniques was when they were trying to board their plane with blood splashed clothes. Napoleon easily wooed a girl into letting them on the plane. They had grabbed new clothes and luggage before arriving at the airport, but their wounds were not fixing themselves. They were leaving dark spots on their clothes.

       After the plane took off, Illya helped Napoleon pop his shoulder back into place and set his broken nose in the tiny bathroom. Napoleon did his best with the knife wound on Illya’s side, packing it so it would at least stop bleeding. When they took their seats again, both of them took a shot of vodka and fell fast asleep within minutes.

 

       Their plane arrived in New York in the mid-afternoon. Waverly was waiting at the gate for them. He smirked as they limped their way over to him.

       “Had a good trip?”

       They were sent to the main nurse for UNCLE and patched up quickly. Waverly explained Gaby’s mission as they sat quietly in his office. Food was ordered and Napoleon and Illya ate most of it, finally feeling safe enough to relax. The concerns about the KGB tracking Gaby were apparently resolved earlier in the week. Waverly had noticed them and they were eliminated immediately. Illya’s shoulders loosened up. Waverly raised an eyebrow as Napoleon patted Illya’s back.

       They were sitting back and chatting about the entire trip when Waverly pointed out Gaby’s cab pull up to front of the building. Illya’s nerves reached into his throat. It had been nearly half a year since he saw her last. What if she had moved on? Illya shook his head. What should he do? Hug her? Kiss her? Nothing? He jumped up and followed Napoleon as he moved to the center of the room. Two taps on the door made Illya’s heart lurch. Napoleon grinned at him as Waverly opened the door.

       “Good to see you, Teller,” Waverly mocked.

       Her voice was annoyed as she answered. “You too, Waverly. Are you going to let me in?”

       Illya’s pulse quickened at her voice. It was everything he remembered about it. It was getting unbearable not being able to see her. His eyes flicked across the windows nervously, waiting for their cue to turn around.

       “Oh. Absolutely.” Waverly spoke nonchalantly.

       Illya heard something hit the floor and as he turned to look, Gaby’s arms wrapped around him and Napoleon. She let go and her small hands hugged Napoleon multiple times. She spoke on and on about his busted face before Napoleon smiled.

       “Missed you too, Gabes.”

       Gaby turned to him.

       Illya felt his stomach flop as her soft eyes met his. Her eyes swept over his wounds, a worried crease between her eyebrows. Illya’s hands twitched at his side, wanting to reach out to her. To feel her warmth again. He had missed it so much. He missed her drunk dancing. The needy kisses she used to press to his neck.

       Her hands stretched out and goose bumps rose on his arms when her fingers traced his jaw. She removed his hat, letting her fingers run through his hair. Illya sighed happily and leaned into the touch. Before he could react, she pulled him down for a kiss. It was brisk, but she came back for a second one, her lips softer and careful. The third was a sweet peck. His hands held her to him as he pulled back. Napoleon smirked at him from across the room.

       In that moment, the 6 months and gaping knife wound were worth it. He was finally free to love this woman with his entire being.


End file.
